The first

few times were easy. I had never pictured myself as an

addict, but I am. My name is Billy and I'm a

Kellogaholic.

For you laymen, a

Kellogaholic is a person addicted to reading the backs of

cereal boxes. My mother had always warned me. I remember

seeing the films when I was in grammar school; something

called "The Downfall of Kevin." I never

believed it could happen to me. It did.

I guess if there was one

specific time that turned my life, it was in the seventh

grade. We were all eating breakfast before school and

when my mom opened the cabinet I quickly said, "Hand

me the Special K."

My brothers and sister

looked at me like I had just denounced my faith or

confessed I didn't like "KC and the Sunshine

Band."

My mom stood with her mouth

open, "You don't want your chocolate

Pop-Tarts?"

I couldn't even think

chocolate, I had to finish reading about riboflavin.

Quicker than Bill Bradley can say "I quit," I

was hooked.

It was just my dirty little

secret in those early years. I rationalized it as

educational. I justified it as a passing phase. But, I

found my mind wandering in school, imagining what my

teacher would look like wearing Cap'n Crunch's hat.

During study hall I would zip open my book bag and sneak

a peak at one of my single-serving Wheat Chex. Kids were

so hurtful at that age. They would call me Grape Nuts.

As I got older, it got

harder for me to hide my "problem." I realized

then that maybe it was something inherited. At the least,

it is obviously a disease, probably genetic. I would like

to believe I had control over these things. I don't.

Simply put, I was chosen

from the masses and scourged with this dreadful sickness.

I can't help it. My parents must be to blame. My father

came from a long line of military map readers. If you

don't know, in the military, reading the map the first

thing in the morning was standard operating procedure. My

dad's reading-during-breakfast routine maybe has left a

telltale imprinting on my DNA, thus I'm not to blame.

Maybe society and the

pressures of proper nutrition are to blame. Over and over

I have always heard, "Eat from the four food

groups!! Eat from the four food groups!" I would

call Doctor Laura if she wasn't so busy straightening out

the Gay Coalition.

These days, things are

still difficult. The nights lying in cold sweats

thinking, if I could just go down and play "The

Fruit Loops Loopy Puzzle." Sometimes, for no reason

I make up excuses to detour by Kroger on my way anywhere.

I have to continually

recall, though, how hard my life was... How I ruined

Christmas at my parents back in '92. The Chex Mix just

brought back too many memories. As I look back, it pains

me to think of all the money my parents threw away

because of my problem: Breakfast reconditioning classes,

bagel camps. Mrs. Butterworth's Clinic was no picnic, my

friend.

So, today, I stand as a

recovering Kellogaholic. I take it one step at a time. I

eat grits now for breakfast. I read the paper. I get my

recipes from "Better Homes and Gardens." Now if

I can just fix this obsession I have with watching

"Who Wants to Be a Millionaire."

[Visit Billy Murphy on

the Internet at https://billymurphy.homepage.com ]